


A Casual Affair

by LynnLarsh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Daichi is overwhelmed, Kuroo and Bokuto are there for ya bro, M/M, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Suga is good at his job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo and Bokuto find out that Daichi has never been to a strip club.  What better way to mark this occasion than with his first private dance?</p><p>AKA: The Daisuga stripper AU that probably already exists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Casual Affair

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pretty heavily based on my own first experience at a strip club. Being that I am a woman who lives in America, there are three things that probably need pointing out:
> 
> 1\. I've only ever been to a standard female strip club, and therefore know little to none about male strip clubs.
> 
> 2\. I know even less about strip clubs in Japan.
> 
> 3\. My interaction was obviously female to female, so I tried to gather as many details from the male perspective on these matters as possible. I may have succeeded, may have not. But at the end of the day, an AU is an AU, am I right?
> 
> Minor details and some dialogue have been changed, but for the most part, this is based off a true story. Daichi and I are awkward ducklings.

He’s being too honest. He knows it the moment the words leave his mouth, but the sake has loosened up his tongue and the beer before that has loosened up his inhibitions. So when Kuroo asks half jokingly, “Have you never been to a strip club then?” Daichi’s head makes the mistake of shaking happily in the negative, just as his mouth makes the mistake of forming the words, “Not yet, no.”

If he’d been more sober, he might have caught on to the mischievous look passed between Kuroo and Bokuto, might have even recognized its purpose in enough time to stop whatever plan was simmering underneath. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’s barely sober enough to pay his tab before his friends drag him out of the izakaya, let alone decipher where they’re dragging him to. Even though it should be obvious, probably would be obvious if he wasn’t already six drinks in.

And yet, the moment they walk through the doors into the dimly lit establishment, Daichi is still unprepared for what he sees. 

The first thing his mind deems fit to register is _bodies_. The stage is currently being held by four dancers, the seats surrounding it mostly filled with men and women, hands outstretched to offer bills in their direction. In some instances, the two even manage to intermingle, a dancer inching in a crawl towards the edge of the stage to better accept their payment from one rather flustered looking male attendee. Daichi instantly sympathizes.

It takes pathetically long for his mind to categorize what he’s seeing, but when it does, it happens thusly. One, Kuroo and Bokuto have dragged him to the strip club a few blocks from the izakaya. Two, all of the night’s dancers are men. And three, he’s currently being dragged front and center to a recently emptied group of plush looking chairs lining the edge of one portion of the stage. Despite his distraction, most of which spurned by a general sense of being overwhelmed, Daichi hears Kuroo explaining the logistics of the club, from the sticking of dollar bills in thong straps to the unfortunate lack of what he fondly calls “full nude.”

“We figured we’d start you off easy,” Bokuto chimes in on that one, and Daichi silently thanks them for that. He already feels like he’s barely staying afloat; if they’d dragged him to a full nude strip club, he probably would have drowned.

The next few minutes, Daichi can only describe as a blur of motion and color. The dancers utilize the poles like aerial artists, doing tricks that he can’t help but be genuinely impressed by. Is it tantalizing? Yes. But it’s also simply and purely impressive. Especially when one dancer climbs his way to the top and flips himself upside down, powerful thighs the only thing keeping him from dropping six feet to the stage below.

“Hey,” a voice in front of him grabs Daichi’s attention away from the stripper still dangling at the top edge of the pole. When he drags his gaze towards the sound, he’s met with light brown eyes, a ruffled mess of similarly brown hair, and a smirk that could only be classified as devious. “Lean back for me.”

Daichi’s body responds before his mind even really catches up to the instruction. Once his shoulders hit the back of the chair, the dancer balances his hands on either side of Daichi’s hips and tips forward. The next thing Daichi registers is the man’s head between his thighs as a mostly bare ass comes careening towards him. The dancer holds himself steady in a sort of headstand as heeled feet clap together in what’s surely meant to be a titillating fashion. Daichi can’t do much more than gawk. In some distant part of his awareness, he’s pretty sure he’s holding his hands out on either side of his face in a gesture most would probably call defensive. Or terrified. Thankfully, the dancer doesn’t seem to notice, even though Daichi can hear Kuroo and Bokuto damn near cackling at his side.

The display probably lasts no more than a couple of seconds, but to Diachi, time must have stood still. It feels like an eternity when the man finally flips himself upright and pulls away, whispering in his ear, “First time, huh?”

The dancer doesn’t give Daichi an opportunity to respond before tossing him a wink and straightening, eyes already on another patron as he struts away. Daichi reaches a hand out in the direction he remembers Kurroo being and grabs on to the first pieces of fabric he can find, tightening his grip and wrenching it in his direction. Thankfully, he doesn’t accidently latch onto a stranger for how forcefully he yanks that shirt in towards him.

Kruoo seems to anticipate Daichi’s argument, cutting him off with a shrug and his own mischievous grin. “What?” He says, forcibly loosening Daichi’s grip from the edge of his work shirt. “You said you’d never been to a strip club. It’s your birthday, Dai! If there was ever a time.”

“What he said! Live a little!” Bokuto shouts from a chair over, holding out a note in one dancer’s direction with a gleam in his eye. Daichi groans, but doesn’t argue, suddenly noticing the small pile of one-thousand yen notes in front of him as well, unsure exactly when they’d managed to materialize.

“Look,” He hears Kuroo follow up, grabbing his arm as he settles himself back in the chair at Daichi’s right. Daichi hates the fact that he has to blink a couple of times before the image of Kuroo’s face settles into something less out of focus. “We figured you’d appreciate this place more than your average club. But if you’re not feeling it-”

“Sawamura-san?” Another lilting voice appears at his side, just as Kuroo’s eyes had started to go blissfully apologetic. They latch on to something over Daichi’s shoulder, so he can’t help but look back, expecting the worst. What he finds is an angelic face with shimmering brown eyes and hair that looks almost silver in the neon light of the club.

Daichi holds out his hand as if in greeting, and the deity of a man can’t seem to help but giggle in surprise. It’s probably the booze still thrumming in his veins, but Daichi feels himself warm pleasantly at the sound.

“Too late,” he hears Kuroo chuckle, but before he can ask either of his friends to explain, the silver haired dancer is reaching for Daichi’s hand and pulling him out of his seat.

“Um,” Daichi eloquently starts to say as he wills himself not to lose his balance. In the presence of someone so beautiful, he suddenly feels far too drunk, surely moments away from making a fool of himself. If he hasn’t already. “Where are we going?”

The dancer smiles again, a natural and genuine looking tug at the corner of plush-looking lips. “Your friends have left you in my care for a bit, Sawamura-san.” And then, with a wink that puts the other dancer’s to shame, he leans in close and adds, “Don’t worry. We’ll have fun. I promise.”

“Y-Your care? I don’t-” Daichi tries to say, stammers mostly, but the dancer is already pulling him through the crowd, and when he glances frantically back in his friends’ direction, they see fit to do no more than wave. Or, in Bokuto’s case, wave with one hand and offer up an enthusiastic thumbs-up with the other.

What feels like barely seconds later, Daichi is being pulled between the folds of a thick, black curtain, the noise of the club dulling just enough to be noticeable. The change in atmosphere is almost sobering, nothing but a black hall before him lit by evenly placed signs in bright neon. Additional black curtains line his left and right, separated by stretches of dark wall. If it weren’t for the gentle tug on his wrist, Daichi probably would have come to a startled halt upon his first step inside.

Instead, he somehow allows himself to be led a decent way, slowing to a stop when the dancer pauses to pull apart another curtain, gesturing inside. “Step into my office, Sawamura-san,” the dancer winks again, chuckling softly. The sound manages to make something warm and comforting unfurl at the center of Daichi’s chest, enough so that he does as instructed without question, even sits on the padded bench without being asked. He knows why he’s here now, regardless of inexperience. Flustered, he may be, but that doesn’t make him naïve. The knowledge of it hardly makes him more comfortable though.

“Daichi,” he hears himself say into a probably awkward length of pause. The dancer glances at him over his shoulder, fingers continuing to work at closing the curtain tight behind them. He raises an eyebrow when Daichi doesn’t continue, lips tugging up in the beginnings of a smirk. Daichi clears his throat, looking down at his hands. Where should he put them? His lap? His sides? He settles for his knees, gripping a bit at the fabric of his work pants. “You don’t… You don’t have to call me Sawamura-san.” He finally explains, immensely grateful for the dim lighting, if only to hide the blush that must be burning his face. “Daichi is… good. Um, fine. If you call me Daichi, that’s fine. It’s m-my name so…” 

Oh god.

Another chuckle, and then the dancer is back in front of him, smiling in a way that’s both gentle and amused, and when did Daichi look back up at him? It’s like he can’t help himself. “Alright then, Daichi,” the dancer purrs, taking a step forward, and he finds himself instantly enamored with his name in that voice. “How about we-?”

“What’s yours?” Daichi blurts out, a few seconds too late, the interruption actually managing to surprise the dancer into momentary silence, even though the smile stays firmly in place. “Your name, I mean. What’s your name?”

The dancer blinks at him for a moment, eyes searching Daichi’s face as if he’d been unprepared for the question. “Seiji,” he finally says, and something about the name falls flat, as if it doesn’t quite fit comfortably on his tongue. Perhaps it’s his surname; his first name is surely much cuter, much more fitting for such a pretty face and kind smile. 

Regardless, Daichi holds out his hand, offering up what he hopes is a smile with more confidence than he actually has. “Nice to meet you, Seiji-san.”

Another surprised blink follows the loveliest smile yet. “You’re much more adorable than my usual first timers,” the dancer laughs, grabbing Daichi’s hand and offering it one firm shake before letting go. “And it’s nice to meet you too, Daichi. Just Seiji’s fine. Now I’m going to need you to take off your belt.”

Daichi’s pretty sure all the blood in his body has found a new home north and south, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Y-You want me to-”

Seiji laughs again, the sound thankfully cutting off his stuttering squeak. “It’s just a precaution for the dance. Don’t get too excited.” Then, Seiji reaches forward, hands lingering mere centimeters above the buckle of Daichi’s belt. “Here. Want some help?” Daichi doesn’t trust himself to do more than nod, his heart stuttering in his chest when those long, elegant looking fingers instantly get to work, expertly unlatching the belt from the buckle and pulling it through the loops of his pants in one fluid motion. 

It drops to the floor with a sound Daichi doesn’t care to hear, his every sense suddenly pinned on Seiji, the way his hips sway to the music from outside, the way his eyes roam over Daichi’s chest, his face, the way he bites at the corner of his lip in a way that’s probably intentional but still manages to seem honest. Normally, Daichi wouldn’t let his eyes latch on so fiercely, but surely here, of all places, he’s allowed, right? So he looks, takes in every detail he can, cursing his semi-drunkeness for possibly eliminating some of these details come morning.

He didn’t notice before, focus so preoccupied by the man’s face, but Seiji is standing before him practically naked, donned in nothing more than a pair of tight (and _god_ are they _tight_ ) black briefs. His chest is bare apart from the small, silver hoops piercing his nipples, the metal catching at the light as he moves. A movement that brings him right on either side of Daichi’s legs.

Seiji leans in just as he settles the weight of himself into Daichi’s lap, his face hovering close before inching past, soft lips at the shell of Daichi’s ear. “Just relax,” those lips say, a voice made of warm air and honey. “And do me a favor, won’t you, Daichi?” 

Daichi nods, a completely involuntary action. Seiji hums, placing one hand on the back of Daichi’s neck and the other on his hip.

“Enjoy yourself.”

The next thing that registers is movement, specifically the fluid roll and grind of Seiji’s body against his own. Daichi’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. One particularly slow movement brings Seiji’s chest up by Daichi’s face, his lips nearly touching metal before Seiji rolls back down, their crotches lightly grazing.

Is he allowed to have an erection? Because he’s definitely going to have one by the end of this. Is that rude?

“You can touch, you know,” Seiji hums, and it’s not until then that Diachi realizes his hands have been hovering, trembling about an inch away from Seiji’s waist. He swallows, breathes out, and lets that inch give way, his fingers lightly grazing against soft, warm skin. “See?” Seiji giggles, still moving, swaying to the beat of the music in Diachi’s lap. “Easy.”

With Seiji’s permission, Daichi lets his hands roam, up Seiji’s waist to the toned expanse of his chest, thumb pausing briefly before running over one of the rings looped through his nipple. Seiji sucks in a breath, lets it out in a soft purr that goes straight to Diachi’s cock.

“These are…” Daichi starts to say, but his mouth has gone a bit dry, his voice rough. Thankfully, as he seems graciously willing to do tonight, Seiji finishes for him.

“They make them more sensitive,” he says, punctuating the statement with an even more arousing sway of his hips. “And they’re fun to play with,” he adds, covering one of Daichi’s hands with his own and running both their fingers over his hardened nipple, the metal catching beneath his fingertips. “Don’t you think so?”

 _I do_ , Daichi means to say, both hands now trailing along the chiseled flesh of Seiji’s abs, fingers ghosting across nipples and piercings as if drawn there, mesmerized. Instead, what comes out is, “Can I kiss them?”

Oh god, why? Why were those the words that managed to escape his lips?

“Is that,” Daichi tries to salvage his propriety. “Is that allowed?”

Somehow, in lieu of all rational response, Seiji only laughs, throwing his head back a bit and exposing the glorious length of his neck. When he looks back at Daichi, his eyes catch the light in a way that’s almost ephemeral. “Only if you let me return the favor.”

Those same talented fingers that had worked wonders on his belt begin to slowly, teasingly undo the buttons of his work shirt, but Daichi pays them no mind this time, already leaning in, already focused on his target.

There’s barely a moment of hesitation before he allows his lips to press, slightly open and wanting against flesh and metal. A moan whispers past his ear, and perhaps it’s the alcohol still muddling his inhibitions, but Daichi takes that as permission to run the tip of his tongue along the underside of the piercing, pulling the hardened nub of Seiji’s nipple into his mouth. Distantly, he recognizes a hand gripping tight at the back of his neck, fingernails scratching at his scalp.

Just as suddenly as the sensation registers in his mind, his cock, Seiji is a couple of inches away again. “You’re such a tease, Daichi-kun,” Seiji purrs, and somehow, his work shirt has been completely unbuttoned. “But it’s not fair if I have all the fun, is it?”

Daichi wants to argue, wants to say that he’s having plenty of fun already, please lean back in. But Seiji is already removing himself from Daichi’s lap. Which seems the opposite of fun, in his opinion. With a graceful maneuver Daichi can’t seem to properly register, however, he finds Seiji kneeling on the floor between his legs, hands on his knees, spreading him open. With another sly grin, Seiji’s whole body rolls upward, his lips trailing over stomach and abs, and it’s all Daichi can do not to cling to the man, hold him there. Especially when those lips ghost over his chest, a hint of tongue running along one nipple, then the other.

“God, Seiji…” He hears himself whisper on half second delay, the words no more than a breathy groan. Seiji stops, not enough to be concerning, but enough that Daichi notices, eyes fluttering back open. When he had closed them, he has no idea. 

Before Daichi can comment on it, Seiji is pulling back again with a flourish, another teasing sway of his hips to the music outside. It takes a second for Daichi to realize that his hands have never left Seiji’s waist, warm skin brushing against his fingers as Seiji turns around and dips forward, bending at the knees.

With the way Daichi’s legs are now spread, Seiji’s full body roll places his ass momentarily firm against Diachi’s crotch. He knows Seiji can feel how hard he is. He knows, when Seiji repeats the motion once more, that he’s only getting harder. Seiji doesn’t seem to mind, though it does beg the question: How the hell is he supposed to go back into the club like this?

Another second or two is lost to drunkenness and arousal, Seiji suddenly facing him again, though still on his knees. This time, however, his face stays low, tantalizingly so, and Daichi can’t help but stare, lips parted, thoughts of what this scene might look like in different circumstances. Which is foolish, he knows it is. He knows _himself_ , and what thoughts like that might _do_. But he can’t help it, especially not when Seiji brings his mouth forward, barely an inch away from his crotch, and hums.

“Mm, thank you, Daichi,” Seiji whispers, and Daichi swears he can feel each breath right against his cock.

“F-For what?” Daichi rasps back, his voice strangely raw.

Seiji chuckles, leaning in for a moment to place a single kiss against the fabric straining around Daichi’s erection. “For enjoying yourself,” he whispers against it. And Daichi’s pretty sure he’s never been more aroused in his life. He’d probably come with a single touch, at this point. Which makes the whimper that leaves the back of his throat all the more involuntary as Seiji rises gracefully back to his feet.

Daichi blinks at him, only half aware as Seiji begins buttoning his shirt back up. “Your two songs are over, though, I’m afraid,” Seiji says, and for a second, Daichi had forgotten, hadn’t he? When Seiji steps back, dipping down to the floor to grab his belt, Daichi spares a remorseful glance at his erection. Definitely noticeable. Fuck…

“Don’t worry,” Seiji chuckles, handing him his belt. “You can take a few minutes, if you need them. Before going back out to your friends.”

“Thanks,” Daichi huffs out a breath, a strangled half chuckle, if he had to describe it. For a second, Daichi assumes that’s the end of it, but then Seiji’s leaning in once more, a hand already cradling the side of Daichi’s face. He’s close, close enough to notice the beauty mole just below his left eye. Close enough that for a brief, hopeful moment, Daichi thinks the man is going to kiss him. Instead, all he does is lean in further, lips dragging against the shell of his ear in a way that feels almost parallel, full circle.

“My real name is Suga, by the way.”

Lips press soft and sweet against his cheek, and then Seiji-no… Suga pulls away, offering one last smile in Daichi’s direction before disappearing behind the curtain.

Daichi feels like his heart is about to burst right out of his chest, his cheek tingling where Suga’s lips had touched. He raises a hand to it, fingers brushing the spot with a sort of reverence.

Were all dances like that? It didn’t feel like it. Daichi didn’t bother to look, too overwhelmed as he was, but had Suga been turned on too? Perhaps not as much, but even a little? Or was what just happened no more than the man’s job?

Of course it was. Kuroo and Bokuto had literally paid Suga to do this.

And yet.

Despite the implication of the box of tissues to his left, which he thankfully only noticed after the fact, Daichi decides to wait for his erection to settle into something hidden, if not completely unnoticeable. Taking care of it seems wrong somehow, makes him feel oddly guilty, or dirty, or at the very least like an exhibitionist. It doesn’t take too long, thankfully, and when he reenters the hall, he’s only half hard, no longer straining against the fabric of his work pants.

Kuroo and Bokuto are right where he left them, though Kuroo is mostly lounging, drink in hand, while Bokuto stands on tip toes in front of the stage, arm outstretched and waving a thousand-yen note in the direction of a particular dancer. The man saunters over, no smile, no wink, and simply takes the bill from Bokuto’s grasp before returning to his pole. Bokuto seems strangely thrilled.

Kuroo notices his approach first, grin stretching wide across his face. “So? How was your first ever private dance?” Daichi opts out of responding, choosing instead to simply plop down into the chair to Kuroo’s left with a sigh. Kuroo chuckles. “That good, huh?” Again, instead of responding, Daichi just runs a hand over his face and stares at the stage, not really seeing it.

“I think you broke him,” he hears Bokuto whisper too loudly in Kuroo’s direction. And maybe Bokuto’s not entirely wrong. Maybe he does feel a little broken. Or at the very least bruised.

They don’t stay much longer. To save Bokuto from spending his entire paycheck on that stripper, is the general explanation, but Kuroo can tell Daichi is distracted, he guesses. Suga doesn’t take the stage once the rest of the time they’re there.

The night feels too quiet in comparison to the loud music of the club, but the cold air feels nice, sobering. Bokuto and Kuroo do most of the talking on the way back to the station, which is a relief, but the silence on his part leaves too much room for thinking. Thinking about the dance, about the strange connection he’d felt, about the way the sound of that voice wasn’t just arousing but comforting, soothing. Thinking about his name on those lips, those lips on his chest. Thinking about the look in his eyes and the giggle in his tone when he’d said, “Step into my office, Sawamura-san,” or the purr in his words when he’d said, “You can touch, you know.”

But more than all of that, Daichi can’t help but think one thing over and over, can’t help but repeat that one moment in his head every which way, in the hopes that maybe he’ll understand why. Maybe he’ll be able to come up with a reason that isn’t wrought with childish fantasy. But no matter how he plays it, no matter how he analyzes, there was no need for it, no reasonable objective on Suga’s part. So then why?

Why had he chosen to tell Daichi his real name?

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first step into the Haikyuu fandom. Hope you like it!
> 
> This may or may not eventually have multiple parts, different perspectives, a chapter count. We'll see how life and inspiration treat this one.
> 
> The title is a song by Panic! At the Disco. I like to imagine it was one of the two songs Suga danced to.


End file.
